Legend of the Arans
by Russian Hunter
Summary: First chapter of a story I'd like to continue. Takes place in an era like the middle ages. Contains action, adventure, romance, and perhaps some humor. Please R&R.


_Alright guys. This is something I've thought about writing for a long time. I may expand it into more based on reactions to it. No it doesn't go in-depth. It's just a basic chapter of a story. Please read and review. Thanks._

"Get up!" Roared Captain Hess, yanking the blankets off of recruit-06's bed, inviting the waiting chill to rush in and eradicate the warmth.

Six rolled off the cot and stood at attention by the foot of his bed, as twenty-nine others completed the same action, all looking as tired and haggard as himself.

"Get dressed and report in front of the barracks in three minutes!" growled the Captain, striding out of the low-roofed building.

"Yes, sir!" came a chorus of voices to his back. Immediately, all thirty recruits rushed to their own cabinet to acquire their clothes. Within two minutes all of the recruits were lined in front of the barracks at attention, facing five trainers, including Captain Hess.

"Not fast enough." Stated Hess, "Fall out and run the block."

"Yes, Sir!" All of the recruits sprint toward the structure to their right. 'The Block' or more commonly known as "Misfortune Trail" was a winding course that ran two miles along the edge of Terral. However, unlike conventional paths, this particular trail was filled with metal spikes, half-frozen moats, and hidden traps waiting to spring upon unsuspecting trainees.

Number six led the run of the cadets as they ran through the first and easiest part of the trail that skirted the small town. Terral was still quiet and dark at four in the morning, the rising smoke from the chimneys was the only disturbance in the calm of the morning. Recruit-04 came up behind him and fell in step beside him.

"Only eleven more months, Seron. She huffed between strides.

"That is," replied Seron, "assuming we make it that far, Amelia." Only the recruits called each other by their real names.

"Oh, are you saying you don't have what it takes?" inquired Amelia, leaping over an assortment of iron spikes that lined the ground, "Because I know that you wouldn't be implying that I won't make it."

"All I'm saying is that twenty-four of us will be kicked off in eleven months. And yes, I have what it takes."

"Well then, we better be in those top six slots." With that, she pushed forward on the course, leaving a panting Seron and twenty-eight other cadets behind.

Once all of the cadets had fallen into line, Captain Hess commented, "Perhaps next time you will fall in on time."

"Yes, sir!"

"Today is going to be a fun day. We'll start off with warm-up stretching, next a little free play, have a filling lunch, hit the books, eat a hearty dinner, do a few push-ups, and finally end the day with a nice ten hours of beauty sleep. . Does this sound good to everyone?"

"Yes, sir."

What Hess really meant was running a few miles to 'loosen up'; some obstacle courses teeming with brutal surprises, our lunch a meager supply of bread and cheese. After noon, we would practice with our chosen weapons, learn fighting moves and countermoves in the classroom, eat a dinner of stringy meat and fruit, do some physical training, and then retire to our beds for our well earned sleep. Every day was the same. We had to endure this treatment for twenty-four months, just to make it to the next stage of our training, that is assuming we passed. It was a hard and arduous life, but it was our chosen life.

_However, eight years ago, this hadn't even been close to what I was planning for my future. I had been born into a country in turmoil to parents with much love, but little money. War was consuming the nation of Urmundi to the south and threatened to spill over into our country of Ferron. Small bands of raiders crossed the border and sacked many of the nearby villages. My birth town of Carrun was one such village. My father was slaughtered trying to protect me and my mother from the brigands. They grabbed my mother and forced me to watch as they raped and then killed her. I was only nine. The only reason they permitted me to live was out of cruelty. They relished the fact that I would be haunted by those images for life. And it worked, memories of that event still fade into my conscious like pieces of driftwood washing onto the shore._

_ From that point on I was alone in the world. At first I was timid, scared, and entirely unprepared for life on the streets. Luckily for me, I was a quick learner. I soon educated myself on the finer skills in the world such as how to steal, lie, run, hide, and most importantly fight in the backwater alleys of large cities. However, all of that changed three years ago when while attempting to knick a noble's purse, I was caught by the garrison. They had me surrounded on all sides, but I still put up a fight and managed to incapacitate three before they finally subdued me with a brutal knock on the head. _

_ I woke up in a cell in a guardhouse with a splitting headache threatening to split my skull. At this point, I figured my life was over. I would be branded as a thief with having one of my hands cut off. Destiny had other plans for me, the same noble whom I had previously tried to rob came to see me in my cell. Having seen the whole scene and my fighting abilities, he had an intriguing proposal for me. I could either train under him as his apprentice and give up being a crook or be punished for my actions and be on my way. Being a practical person, I chose to study under him and learn whatever it was he did._

_ My new master, Baron Normont, was a teacher in the arts of silent killing and the ardin. Under him I was able to learn an entire new set of abilities: how to sword fight, how to conceal myself, how to move silently, and most importantly was the knowledge of how to kill. The ardin was the single handed weapon that was the main focus of my study. The weapon had a straight, slender tempered steel blade that had only one edge. At the end of the blade; the metal was folded away from the edge to form a "V" about three inches tall and four inches wide. The crosspiece was a simple piece of polished bronze with a smooth oak hilt completing the sleek and light design. _

_ As I started out, I mainly worked on the wooden dummies in the yard of my master's house, repeating sequences of moves over and over. This built my speed, skill, and strength required to wield the ardin. In between my sword sessions, my schedule was full with my other lessons and day to day chores. Three months into training, my skills with the ardin advanced beyond unresponsive objects. My master hired the services of several common swordsmen to challenge me. The first few duels were such drastic changes from the dummies that I lost them in a few strokes. With the men's laughter provoking me, I adjusted to this new development. The next challenger I disarmed in seven moves. The laughing stopped as the second swordsmen was beaten in four strokes. The final opponent was defeated by a simple, but lighting fast block quickly pursued by a potentially fatal swipe to the throat. The men left with no more laughter. _

_ After honing my skills, my master decided to train with me personally. The first thing he did was add a new element to the lessons. I was then equipped with two ardins, instead of my usual one. This unbalanced me as I was used to one dominant hand. As such, my fighting represents that with me using my right arm for most of the fighting. I lost every spar with my master in this manner. It took me three years to fully master the art of dual wielding, but in four years time, I am able to best my aging master in a duel. _

_ Five months later my teacher was on his deathbed. Before parting from this world he again gave me a choice. To be given a house on a good piece of land or to take a chance and apply to try out for a new position in the royal army, the Arans._

_The day those bandits killed my parents. They day they raped my mother. The day I was helpless to stop them made the choice for me_. _From that day on I made a promise to myself. Never again would I be helpless to save those I love. I will do whatever it takes to keep that promise. So for now, day in and day out, I was training to be chosen as an Aran._

"Alright Cadets, enough loitering. Let's get some grub."

Meals are the only time that the cadets are allowed to socialize and relax. In this department I take no part. I pull a chair up to my regular table in the far right corner opposite the door and start eating. So engrossed in my activity, I barely register that someone is there, before Victoria, recruit-22, sits down on the other side of the table. I lift my eyebrow at her appearance, but otherwise show no sign of welcoming her. She's tall, about five foot seven with straight white hair that comes down to her shoulder blades. Her skin is pale with a silvery shine that sets off her long legs. She has high cheek bones that round off to form a pointed chin. But most striking of all are her piercing green eyes that stare out from her pretty face. Those same eyes that she uses to sight down her bow to deliver a killing shot.

Victoria, like me, is habitually a lone wolf and dines alone, though her sitting at my table defies that habit. She offers no explanation for her actions. Instead, she only continues reading a small book while taking measured bites. I offer one last look before I return to eating.

Twenty minutes later it's time to form up outside. I down the last of my water and head for the door. Victoria closes her book and follows suit, only giving me a brief glance of green before she disappears outside.

"Let's get running cadets!"

With no further ado, Hess directs us to our regular fifteen mile morning run. After two hours we arrive back to the base in front of the barracks.

Out in the beating sun we form six columns with five trainees in each. As one we march in step to a wide clearing with foot high thin yellow grass and a few thorn bushes strewn throughout. Unfortunately, as a few cadets have found, the thorns on these bushes have a light hallucinogen poison on the tip that causes one to see false images for a couple of hours.

My observations are broken by Hess's voice shouting, "Cadets one through sixteen in the sparring ring. Pair off with the even number above you. Cadets seventeen through thirty with the exception of twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four work the dummies. You four practice on the target range. In an hour, you will switch."

All thirty of us head to our respective stations to carry out his orders. As usual I am paired off with recruit five. Recruit five is a massive six foot five man with muscles that would shame an oxen. He is bald but compensates for it with his foot long black beard that comes down to a point tied off with a small golden ring.

Five, or Gerd, as his mother named him is a mismatched opponent for me. He wields a massive two handed longsword called a hern that is at least five feet. I carry my two single handed ardins. He relies on strength, whereas I rely upon my speed. I'm eighteen and fit. He's thirty and has a beer belly. And most importantly, he's bald and I'm not.

We each get into our starting position. I put my feet in the shape of an "L" about a foot and a half apart with one hand by my hip pointing the tip of the sword forward; my other hand is above my head with the sword suspended a few inches from my face facing Gerd. Gerd sets his feet apart facing me and holds the hilt of his sword in both hands in front of his chest. He stares intensely into my eyes, trying to intimidate me. What a fool. I fix my own upon his center of mass and wait.

"BEGIN!"

Gerd brings his hern in a slicing sweep that would have cut me in half had I not simply jumped over the blade, and the blades being wooden. His momentum carries his sword to the left side of his body. Now it's my turn. Landing from my jump, I rush forward and place my right ardin on his hern, pushing it further back. From here I place my left ardin's blade along his throat. I stare into his brown eyes, looking for the anger that is always bubbling there when we spar. Sure enough, there it is, filling his pupils with its infection. Slowly, I back out of his range back into my stance.

While preparing for our next bout, I catch Amelia parrying blows from her opponent with ease. I also notice Victoria sinking arrow after arrow into a target two hundred feet downrange in rapid succession. So engrossed in watching her amazing skill, I barely see the downward strike from Gerd. I quickly sidestep, missing the blade by a mere inch. The hern sticks a few inches in the ground. Angry at the near miss, I bring up my leg and send a sidekick into Gerd's face. His body falls backward onto the ground, losing the grip on the longsword in the process. Blood pours from his nose as well as pure hatred from his eyes as he retrieves his sword.

The next hour passes in this manner. By the time the captain calls for a five minute water break, Gerd is close to snapping. His breathing comes in short gasps, his clothes are soaked in perspiration and his hands are clenched with rage. I can almost feel the heat of his anger burning me. I warily place my weapons on a cloth on the ground as I move towards the water.

Just as I expected. Gerd's anger has taken over. On his way to the water he shoves me and six others aside as he goes to the front of the line.

After downing a few litters he sneers, "Real men get water first."

At this point I should suck up my pride, but I can't help myself replying, "Ye, hopefully it will help with your sparring."

Being of a normal short temper and a shorter one of late, his reaction is expected. Pulling back his arm he sends a jab straight at my face. The force of the punch sends me sprawling on my back. I prop myself on my elbows feeling blood flowing from a cut lip. Damn, he hits like a rock. I look to see Hess's reaction; as I catch his eye he turns his face up, admiring the clouds. I need no more proding.

"You hit," I grunt as I get back to my feet, "like a little girl."

Not my finest insult, but his anger doesn't need any more than that.

He again sends a fist flying towards my face. This time, however, it will end differently. I step inside of his punch and block the hit by jamming my left hand into the crook of his arm. With my right hand I send an uppercut into his stomach, causing him to double over. Using both hands I reach around his neck and pull his already lowered head into a meeting with my right knee. Twice. I let go of him and he staggers backward a step trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. Instead of mercy, I give him a quick front kick to his already injured nose. This time it's him on his back in the dirt. Not giving him a chance to rise, I lightly press my foot against his throat.

"Real man huh?."

"Alright ladies. Change stations." commands Hess, bringing everyone back into order.

"Get up and go work the dummies Gerd!"

"Yessuh."


End file.
